The Two Year Wife

Chapter 8: Mrs Marchetti

Camille’s POV

The wedding happens three days later.

There is no time for anything big. No long guest list, no slow planning,just a small ceremony at the Marchetti estate outside Milan, close family only, and photographers kept far enough away that nothing leaks this time.

I wear a simple white dress Elodie picked out for me on short notice. She fixes my hair with shaking hands, more nervous than I am.

“You do not have to do this,” she whispers, right before I walk out.

“Yes I do.”

“Camille.”

“I know what I am doing, Elodie.”

I am not sure that is true. But I say it anyway, because I need to believe it more than she does.

The ceremony is short. A few words, a ring, a kiss that lasts just enough to look real for the small crowd watching. Nico’s hand is steady in mine the whole time. Mine is not.

Afterward, we do not go anywhere special. We go straight to his home, my new home, a large modern house set back from the road with glass walls and a view of the hills.

“This is too big for one person,” I say, stepping inside.

“It will not be one person living here anymore.”

“You know what I mean.”

“You will get used to it.”

“I do not want to get used to it.”

He does not answer that. He simply leads me down a long hallway to a room that is meant to be mine, spacious and quiet, with a small sitting area and a closet bigger than my old apartment back in Paris.

“This is yours,” he says. “Nothing here is shared unless you want it to be.”

I look around slowly. It should feel like a gift. Instead it feels like a very nice cage.

A woman appears at the end of the hallway, warm smile, soft eyes.

“Mrs Marchetti,” she says, stepping forward. “Welcome home. I am Marta. I run the house.”

“Thank you, Marta.”

“If you need anything at all, please just ask.”

She leaves us alone again, and Nico checks his watch. “I have calls to make. There is food in the kitchen if you are hungry.”

“You are leaving? On our wedding night?”

“It is business, not choice.”

“Everything with you is business.”

He studies me for a moment, something almost like regret crossing his face before it disappears. “I will be back soon.”

He doesn’t come back soon.

I wander the house alone for an hour, unsure what to do with myself in a place that is not mine yet, in a life I did not choose so much as fall into. I am standing near the kitchen when I hear the front door open, and I expect it to be Nico.

It is not.

A woman walks in like she has done it a hundred times before, dark hair pulled back, a red dress that looks like it was made for exactly this kind of entrance. She stops when she sees me, her eyes moving over me slowly, taking their time.

“So you are her, she says.

“I am sorry, who are you?”

“Isabella.” She says it like the name should mean something to me. “I have known Nico since we were children. Our families always assumed we would end up together.”

My stomach turns. “That is not something I can help you with.”

“No,” she agrees, stepping closer, her smile never quite reaching her eyes. “But you should know something, since no one else will bother to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

She stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell her perfume, sharp and expensive.

“This marriage will not last”, she says softly. “And when it ends, I will be standing right here. I always am.”

She turns and walks out before I can say a single word back, leaving me alone in a house that suddenly feels much colder than it did five minutes ago.